


... tell me i'm beautiful?

by liquorisce



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Angst, F/M, Pining, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:49:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26783950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liquorisce/pseuds/liquorisce
Summary: on some nights Riza is delicate. and Roy is possessive.  (also, havoc is a good friend)
Relationships: Jean Havoc/Riza Hawkeye, Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang
Comments: 6
Kudos: 62





	... tell me i'm beautiful?

**Author's Note:**

> i saw on my tumblr feed that it’s fma day (3.10) (the day when the greatest angst of our generation was born), and i was hit with major feels for full metal alchemist. it truly is one of the greatest stories of our generation. anyway, here is some old royai from my wip notes that i had to dust the cobwebs off of (that my anxious ass never had the balls to post). my writing style has changed over the years, but my heart is still so full for these two, so it was fun to rewrite.

The buzz around the Eastern Headquarters is that one of the Top ranks is getting hitched and that it's going to be a fancy affair, traditional with a masquerade ball.

When Roy sees an invite in his post, he's rather surprised. But the wedding is in Central and it's an excuse to see his best friend, so it doesn't seem so bad after all.

"Lieutenant," he asks, just as she is about to leave for the day, "what's all this I hear about a ball at the General's wedding?"

"It seems we must be accompanied with a date, Sir. You received the invitation four weeks ago." He detects some annoyance in her words, but he lets it pass, because his brain has begun to imagine Hawkeye in a dress, especially one of those grand, frilly ones.

"Then you will accompany me."

It was acceptable, the way he states it like it's the obvious course of action, because he is her superior after all. But it also ticks her off, that he expects it, without even bothering to ask. She may be his subordinate but there are times when she wishes he would just see her as a woman.

"That won't be possible, Sir."

She is just as shocked with her own coldness as he is, his eyebrows twitching in question.

"I'm afraid I've already promised Havoc I would go as his date."

His eyes narrow and she sees a flicker of emotion awash in the dark of his eyes and she almost feels as if she's done something wrong.

But she hasn't, and she will not apologise. She clenches her fist. 

"Ah," he drawls, not missing a beat, "have you decided what to wear yet?"

That wasn't the question she was expecting and it throws her off balance.

"I," she pauses for a moment, to regain her composure, "I haven't thought about it yet."

She doesn't want to engage in his banter anymore, because there are feelings involved - mostly hers, and they are irrational, she thinks - and expectations, expectations that have no basis but are yet difficult to do away with. So she hastens to the door.

He's quiet for a minute, but because he can't help himself, he murmurs, "… You should wear green. It suits you." 

… 

She ends up wearing a dress, it’s slinky, tighter than the clothes she’s used to, slipping past her knees. Somehow she finds herself in heels, black strapped ones she's borrowed from a friend that she clearly cannot walk in. It lacks the comfort of her boots but she deals with it, because apparently this is the price that comes along with looking pretty. 

The dress is borrowed too, but she doesn’t miss the fact that out of all the dresses Rebecca paraded as options, she reached for the dark green one. … Apparently it suited her. 

At least that is what she is assured of when Havoc comes to pick her up, his eyes popping in surprise when he sees her. 

"Wow," he let's out a loose whistle, "you clean up real good, don't you?" 

She blushes and it's another rare sight. "The Hawkeye blushing?" He teases, "I've got to be dreaming." 

They make their way to the wedding and Havoc dives headfirst to the bar. She isn’t surprised. She looks around, her eyes seeking whom she had stubbornly decided not to care about and she sees him with a woman - obviously - hanging onto his every word. 

An officer of sorts, she guesses, but not from their division, because Roy has unleashed his charm, his eyes twinkling flirtatiously. 

She averts her eyes to the bar and to her date, who despite his melancholy has ordered an extra drink for her, a cocktail which he swears is the best he's ever had. The thought of alcohol seems far more appealing than watching her superior with yet another woman.

... 

"Did you want to dance, Lieutenant?" 

She's a few drinks down, he's had even more and his words are beginning to slur. 

"I'm sorry," he says and he sounds genuinely remorseful. "I just... I can't get her out of my head." 

She pats his head comfortingly and he slumps a little on the counter. "You loved her that much?" 

He nods gloomily and Riza pretends to ignore the glisten of his eyes. Havoc's eyes rest on the newly married couple, a little envious of the ingenuity of their smiles. 

"You know, I actually thought we would make it there." 

He doesn't have to say it but Riza knows he's talking about the altar, of dreams of marriage that he harboured for his ex-girlfriend. He was painful to watch these past few weeks, ever since Rebecca ended things with him, and when he asked her to the wedding, she couldn't help but agree. 

Besides, she had made sure Roy had seen the invitation days ago and if he hadn't asked her by then, it was quite likely he never would. 

"I'm sure you'll find someone else," she says comfortingly. "Even we soldiers are allowed to be happy eventually." She isn’t sure she believes it, but for someone as pure as Havoc, surely fate can be kinder.

He tries his best to put on a smile, nodding with the optimism in her words. "Well hopefully I find happiness before my hair turns grey," he jokes, making her giggle. 

It feels nice, letting her hair down with a friend, even though she would rather let her hair and a lot of other things down with a certain someone else, but she tries not to think of it. 

When she turns, the smile is wiped clean off her face, because her gaze catches the eyes of that same someone else, eyes dark as night, hair even darker, swept back to show off the handsome angles of his face. He is with someone else, a pretty brunette with her back bare and his hand splayed on it, and they are moving to the music but his eyes are on her, intense, questioning... _reprimanding_ her almost. 

For what? She thinks heatedly, he has no right to look at her like that, like he's displeased with her, when she cannot even express just how unhappy she is with him. 

"But seriously, Lieutenant," Havoc says, hesitating for a moment, but choosing honesty, "you look amazing tonight. I must be the envy of every man in here." 

She lets herself bask in his appreciative gaze and her cheeks heat up. "You really think so?" 

He nods, smiling at her. "You sound surprised. A woman like you must be used to such compliments, isn't it?"

She laughs ruefully. Compliments? She couldn't remember the last time a man had ever called her pretty. At least not since she entered the military. "You're the first, Havoc." 

His mouth almost gaped open in surprise. 

She went on, her frustration further driven by the alcohol in her blood. "No one's ever even asked me out," she says, helplessly. "Sure, there had been a few men who seemed interested, but even they never tried to take things further." 

The Lieutenant didn't date, everyone knew that. But listening to her open up about it, doubting herself, he felt for her. 

Because he was one of those men too, a long, long time ago. 

He remembers when he first joined the unit, newly assigned to Eastern, full of smiles. 

The place really was swarming with beautiful women, just as he had heard. He figured he would get on here just fine. 

And when he first entered the office of the Major Roy Mustang whom he was assigned to, he thought his heart was going to _stop_. 

He had never seen anyone like her, young, strong, leaning over the table and giving the Major a piece of her mind. She scolded him like she had the authority to, and he listened, even though there was a formal apology attached to her rant in the end. 

He was stunned, unable to do anything but watch when she turned around and stalked out of the room, because the view from the front was even better than behind, a round heart-shaped face framed in short blonde hair, deep brown eyes and a body that would make anyone's thoughts stain the darkest shade of impurity. 

Life, of course, had very different plans for them, even though they got closer, just like he wished. One afternoon, Rebecca walked into the office and threw her arms around Riza, and Havoc soon learnt that love was far more nuanced than admiration at first sight.

"At first I thought it was the uniform," she confesses, "I thought maybe I was just scaring the men away." 

You have no idea, he thinks, sighing. Riza Hawkeye was made of fire, and it turned men on even if they were afraid of being burnt by it.

"But my friend Jessica had absolutely no problem when it came to this sort of thing." 

She casts her eyes lower, twirling the remnants of her whiskey. "Maybe there's just something wrong with me." 

Her lips lift up in a sardonic grin. "I'm a pretty pathetic Lieutenant, huh?" She rests her forehead against the counter. "I can't believe I'm here at a wedding, crying over _men_.” Sighing, she murmurs, “I suppose these feelings are par for course when you have couples dancing all around you." 

He rests his hand over the back of her head, ruffling the softness of her locks. "It isn't pathetic," he murmurs comfortingly, "You're only human, after all. We're all just idiots who want nothing more than to be loved." 

He leaves out the part where he willingly offers himself up for the job, spurred a little by his already broken heart and embers of a decade-old attraction that never went away. He could make her feel special, take her out on all the dates she feels she missed out on, tell her she's beautiful till she never doubts it ever again. It would be a selfish distraction, but Havoc is a romantic, and maybe, just maybe, it would lead them down a different path to happiness.

But he remembers what made him give up that mission in the first place, all those years ago, cold, blazing eyes that delivered a threat far worse than his words. 

_"There will be no fraternisation within this unit," he had stated calmly before even Havoc had gotten a chance to admit to it himself. "If I find out you've laid a hand on her, I will have you transferred out of Eastern before you know it."_

Back then he didn't know if Major Roy Mustang even had that sort of power. But something else told him that if he didn't listen it would be his burnt corpse they would be carrying out of Eastern. 

Even now Havoc knows it's useless, that he cannot even comfort her the way he really wants to, because he knows _his_ eyes are here, they don’t leave her, always watching from the corner, staking claim. 

"Thanks Havoc," she says, trying for warm but still sounding miserable, lacing her fingers with his for a brief second in appreciation of his effort to make her feel better.

He sighs. "Would you mind if I went outside for a smoke?" They didn't allow smoking in the ballroom, and his cravings had kicked in three drinks ago. 

"Sure," she says, "I'll come with you." 

He looks surprised because the Lieutenant has never approved of his smoking, but he thinks maybe she would prefer it to her own company tonight. 

But when she tries to stand it's like the blood has drained from her head, and she falters. Gingerly, she rubs a hand to her forehead.

"On second thought, I think I'll stay here." She gets back onto her seat, "I've had too much to drink." 

"Will you be alright?" He asks, and it is more out of courtesy than anything else because he knows that if she isn't, _he_ will be by her side in seconds to take care of her. 

She assures him she's fine, that a drink of water will make everything better, even though fine is far from what she feels. Having let out her feelings, she doesn't feel the light headedness that most claim, just empty and dejected because it is more than just never being told she's pretty or going out on dates. If only her sorrows were as commonplace as wishing for love. If only she didn’t desire a very specific love. A love she will never have. 

"Excuse me," she mumbles to the waiter," could I have a glass of water please?" 

He hurries away to get it and she rests her head against the counter. As she closes her eyes, she wonders how they do it, all those women he talks to, all the willing females he engages with. Is it all the giggling? 

Does Roy like it if his women show a lot of skin? She remembers the woman from earlier, pale pink fabric shimmering off her dainty frame. Or maybe he likes the petite ones. 

She sighs dejectedly. At 5'5", she had curves that filled out every inch of her uniform and a full chest that had been a major cause of discomfort during military school. She was anything but petite. 

In the end what bothers her most is that it probably doesn't matter if she isn't skinny or she doesn't wear clothes that dip to the small of her back. Military rules state they couldn't be together and it seems Roy wasn't the least bit tempted to break them. 

.. 

"I'm afraid all the dancing has made my head spin," he tells her. "It was really lovely to have the pleasure of your company..." He pauses at the end, awkward because he just spent the last 40 minutes dancing her in circles but he can't, for the love of God, remember her name. 

"It's Elizabeth," she purrs, laughing, "You're just like the rumours say, Colonel! So terrible with names." 

She comes closer, her breath damp on the shell of his ear, "And so incredibly handsome." 

"I'm flattered," he says, untangling himself from her, smiling the way he knows is probably misleading, but in this situation it's polite. 

He can't quite explain it but he is struck by this inexplicable urge to see his own Elizabeth, a sharp contrast to this one's dark hair and light eyes, her beauty stemming from self-respect that is sorely lacking in most of the women that threw themselves at him.

He can't pretend that he's a saint and that there haven't been a few that have followed him into bed, but there is nothing more than frustration at play here, a compromise of sorts where he can make believe that the girl in front of him is one with pale hair that shimmers and eyes that would always show him the light. 

Where he can dream that the lips he kisses are the same bow shaped ones that admonish him at work. 

Looking over at the bar counter, he sees that she's still there, this time with Havoc nowhere to be seen. There's a small, selfish part of him that rejoices in this fact, because their intimacy and hand-holding had him seeing red a little while ago. 

It isn't fair that he wants her like this, so irrationally and so selfishly, he knows it, but he can't stop himself from this desire and he knows it often scares men away from her.

He knows there have been times when he has deliberately scared men off of her. He wonders how she would react if she learns of it. _Would she have preferred their affections?_

When he comes closer he sees that her head is resting on the counter, eyes closed. "Lieutenant," he calls, but she doesn't stir. Roy is known to be a little paranoid when it comes to his aide and the tension creeps onto his face, furrowing it's way between his eyebrows. 

He tries calling her again, this time placing his hand on her shoulder and shaking her gently. Her head turns to the side and he can see that her mouth is parted slightly and her breaths are even. 

Has she... Passed out?! Laughing to himself, he occupies the seat beside her, brushing a lock of hair out of her eyes and tucks it behind her ear. He could happily stay like this forever, wrapped up in the softness of her hair and skin, watching her without interruption as she sleeps. There's a mole just under her ear, a tiny black little thing and he wonders if he could reach down and kiss it. It would be quick, no one would ever know it. 

He could press his lips to her skin, touch his tongue to her earlobe, take it between his teeth maybe, the way he's always wanted to when they are alone in his office and he is tempted to misuse his rank. 

He gives in to this sweet compulsion and bends down, lips pressing ever so lightly against the mark. 

She _smells_ sweet, of the lavender she's been partial to ever since she was a teenager, wrapped in this very same fragrance when she would finish her shower. 

Roy knows this because every time she would be anywhere nearby his attention as an apprentice would falter, often earning him rebukes from her father. 

He had promised himself just one, but it's a promise ill-kept because his lips inch further along her jawline, featherlight brushes of temptation going against everything he has worked for. 

But what good is his ambition when all it brings him is turmoil, and this cruel deprivation of her? When all he feels every day when he looks at her is longing, immense and painful, to the point of desperation. 

Reason loses it's shine further when he can feel her pulse flutter, and the softest murmur of his name brushes his ear. 

"Roy," she mumbles and it's so maddening, the effect his name on her lips has, he considers giving her orders to never address him Colonel ever again, "I wore green. Just like you told me to."

His eyes widen, remembering the day he’d asked her to accompany him. She had this look in her eyes, disappointment, frustration - _or was it disgust_ \- and he dared to hope she’d go with it anyway, but she didn’t. And the feeling of rejection, of being rejected by Riza, isn’t one he can shake so easily. 

_"What?" She had asked confused, when the statement he hadn’t intended to say out loud - he liked her in green, and that was something he kept secret, it brought out her eyes - had clearly been heard. “It suits you,” he’d said simply, and her temper had flared. Narrowing her eyes, she had said, "What I choose to wear is none of your business, Sir."_

She’d emphasized the last word with as much sarcasm as one could possibly fit into one syllable. 

He had laughed that day… a frustrated laugh, but now seeing that she actually listened to him, he thinks _maybe_ what he thought mattered much more than what she let on. 

"I even wore heels," she whispers, still drunk, slurring the s's. 

"You did," he says slowly, because he noticed, just like he notices everything, the way it made her legs look endless, the way it made her hips sway when she walked in with Havoc. He runs an idle finger across her cheek. 

"Do I look pretty, Colonel?" 

When she speaks these words, he hears the uncertainty behind the pink lips that she licks, barely inches from his. 

He could tell her that yes, she's pretty, but he'd rather show her. With kisses sweeping all over her body, and caresses earning soft sighs from her full mouth. 

He _could_. 

And he almost _does_. 

He _almost_ kisses her, full on the mouth, tongue flicking across hers, telling her that pretty is an understatement and that the first time he saw her, he was already mesmerised. 

But he is mindful of their surroundings, not wanting to cause her any further disrespect by acting out the increasingly lewd fantasies churning in his mind. Because he doubts a kiss would stay just that, a kiss and nothing more, not when it is Riza underneath him, lips pliant and sweet, testing his restraint. 

"Havoc," he says harshly when he comes to realise the looming figure behind him, keeping his distance but well within hearing radius. "Take her home." 

He's surprised at first, because he was sure he had witnessed something deeper, more intimate between those two tonight. Havoc had seen the Colonel flush, and stroke her skin tenderly, the Lieutenant's eyes dazed and gazing at him with blatant desire. 

"Sir, sh-shouldn't you?" He stutters, clearly asking something inappropriate and out of turn but he can't help it. There is no one in the entire hall who could have missed the palpable chemistry between the two of them. 

But he doesn't say anything, just shakes his head, his eyes dark and stormy, and tells him to make sure she has a glass of water before she's put to bed. 

When Havoc walks her out, one hand around her waist and the other firmly holding her arm around his shoulder he realises that he’s a bit irritated with this years-old game of hide-and-seek. His broken heart was urging him to slap some sense into the Colonel and yell, because people who’ve found love - the real kind - have no business denying it. 

"I think it should be fairly clear by now why you so rarely get propositioned by men," he says dryly. 

She makes a noise, questioning, barely able to take in his sarcasm or even his words for that matter, as her eyes droop shut. 

He takes in the rare sight of a defenseless Hawkeye clinging to his arm and his mouth turns up with the hint of a smile. 

"... It isn't that no one's interested,” he whispers, “just that everybody knows they wouldn’t stand a chance. Not against _him_.” 

_\- fin -_

**Author's Note:**

> hmu @ liquorisce.tumblr.com


End file.
